Butter Fingers
by Spockchick
Summary: Near to Christmas, Scotty has a craving for a wee bit of Scottish baking.


**A****/****N****. **Long notes for a short story! Beta - SpockLovesCats

Paramount owns it all, even at Christmas.

**Buttery****: **Also known as a an Aberdeen roll, is a savoury pastry from Aberdeen. It is like a salty, squashed croissant.

**Minging****: **Scottish word for revolting, disgusting, insanitary, unattractive, and about a hundred other negative meanings.

**Misers****:** John Winston, the actor who played Kyle, was from Yorkshire. In the UK, Aberdonians and Yorkshire folks are the butt of jokes for being mean and miserly, but actually, they are lovely.

* * *

**Butter ****Fingers**

"It's nae good, Kyle. I canna get it right. It's a damned shame, the only thing I'm craving and I canna have it."

"D' you think that's why you crave it? Because you can't have it?" Kyle looked at his Scottish friend's furrowed brow. "I don't understand the attraction myself, tastes like a salty, greasy doormat."

"Ach man, you're right, it's _minging_. The real thing is far superior, if I can just get the chemical configuration right. What we need is a real buttery so we can disassemble its component parts."

"That would take _weeks_ to bring from Terra, and it would cost a fortune."

"Aye, not to mention a waste of my replicator credits, that are flowing away faster than unripe apples through a pig."

"You Aberdonian _tightwad_!"

Scotty punched his pal playfully on the arm. "That's quite enough o' the _mean_ jokes – you Yorkshire _miser__! _We need to do a bit o' computer hacking, and there is only one woman who can help us. But first, lad, we need a plan!"

* * *

Uhura stood at the sleep partition in her quarters, hands on hips; not a good sign, thought Scotty. "So to re-cap, you want me to peer into the Starfleet transport files to find out if there are any ships leaving Terra and coming near the Enterprise so you can get one of your loony Scottish friends to smuggle on _baked __goods_?"

"Eh, aye, that's about the size of it."

"And how exactly would this grand deception be achieved?"

"Well, Lieutenant Marcus in Biology has agreed to receive the package, labeled as biological research material, in a stasis unit."

"So you have incriminated poor Marcus in this too? You know his sister is a lab-technician on Terra? I wonder _who_will package up the material in a bio-stasis unit? Hmm...?"

Scotty looked to the floor – _damn__, __Uhura __was __quick __on __the __uptake__. _Then she said something surprising:

"What's the worst that can happen if we get caught?"

"You're actually authorised to view transport schedules – so I reckon, not much. We'll get a slap for unauthorised use of equipment; Carol Marcus will say she thought the material was genuinely for research and we'll back her up. And you'll say the same."

"Have you covered your tracks regarding any communications?"

Scotty was incredulous. "Of course we have, we're _professionals__._"

"Right Tweedledum and Tweedledumber, I'll help you, but only because I miss Kenyan food and I expect both of you to help _me _if this little experiment works." Uhura's face took on a beatific glow as she thought of her mama's mashed plantain; buttery, lemony and fresh with cilantro and hot, sweet chilli flakes. It never ceased to amaze her how her mother was able to coax verdant life from the unpromising soil at home. The taste of mashed plantain took her to a place with sun so bright, it bleached the world.

Kyle gave a broad smile. "You're a champion lass, Uhura!" He in turn was thinking of _fat__ rascals_, sweet scones heavy with almonds and cherries. His mother always put a pinch of salt in the glaze. A country walk in Yorkshire, wrapped up warm on a snowy day, wasn't complete without a flask of strong, sweet tea and a box of _fat __rascals__._

_

* * *

_

Approximately three weeks later, Lieutenant Anton Marcus presented himself solemnly at Engineering, bearing a cubic container marked: _BIO__-__MAT__; __Possible __biological__ contaminant__. __Only __to__ be __opened __by __addressee__. _A black and yellow bio-hazard symbol was prominent on the package.

"Ya beauty, Marcus. Wait 'till Kyle sees this! I owe you one!" Marcus merely smiled, he was thinking of his grandfather's famous rhubarb and ginger jam, with just a touch of rosewater in the mix. Spread on hot, white toasted focaccia, with a thin sliver of sharp and salty pecorino nestled beneath its jammy blanket; it thrust him firmly into memories of a hot summer in New York. His little sister swung her skinny legs and dripped jam onto a yellow cotton dress.

Scotty prepared to open his package, armed with a pair of tongs to lift his prize out of the dry ice. Beneath the packaging, taped to the top of the insulating box, was some blank paper, almost unheard of in Starfleet. The engineer licked his thumb and rubbed it on the paper. Words magically appeared. _Good __lass __Marcus__, __nice__ DNA__ activation__._

_Dear Scotty,_

_You are a devious chap and I love the way you think. I'm sure nobody suspects a thing. Kyle's mom was very helpful, she sent a whole box of baking to our lab - yum! My Grand-daddy was beyond excited that his jam was "being shot into space" and Uhura's mom was a total darling, and she added some extras from her garden. Your sis sends her love. So, without further ado, I enclose in vacuum packs:_

_250g Rhubarb and Ginger Jam_

_250g Mashed Plantain_

_2 x Fat Rascals (how in the hell did they get the name?)_

_2 x Butteries (I tried one – not convinced)_

_10g Yellow Banana Chilli Seeds from Mrs Uhura_

_10g Scotch Bonnet Chilli Seeds from Mrs Uhura (now they ARE a bio-hazard)_

_Enjoy! I hope your little experiment works._

_All the best_

_Carol_

Scotty leaned back in his chair, surveying his haul. He had a bit of a long night ahead of him, but it would be worth it. He'd just tell Kyle that it hadn't worked.

* * *

On Christmas morning a few of Scotty's friends, who still celebrated the holiday, awoke to find something pushed under their door; an old fashioned greeting card bearing a replicator code unique to each person. The salutation was in the form of an encouragement to use the codes for their Yuletide breakfast.

Uhura sat down at a table with her tray, joining Marcus and Kyle. She seemed in a state of shock and just stared at her plantain, stupefied. Her two colleagues seemed in much the same state.

Finally, she spoke; "How did he know?"

"He's the most observant man in Starfleet, and he listens to everyone," whispered Kyle, in awe.

Uhura raised her steaming mug of tea, "Here's to Scotty, and his replicator experiments. Long may they continue."

Marcus and Kyle raised their coffees and said in unison, "To Scotty!"

In engineering, a dark-haired Scottish man bit into a warm, salty, buttery roll and thought of a red-haired lass in a plaid skirt. It matched her grey-blue eyes but didn't quite cover her grassy knees as she smiled up at him with twigs in her hair.

-Happy Holidays-


End file.
